


The Scientific Method

by badgirlcarly



Category: Thunderheart (1992)
Genre: Corporal Punishment, Domestic Discipline, Figging, M/M, Punishment, Spanking, Strapping, corner time, mouth soaping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2020-12-17 08:40:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21051509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badgirlcarly/pseuds/badgirlcarly
Summary: Ray's in for a serious punishment, but Walter has a little help deciding the details.





	The Scientific Method

  
“We’re gonna try something different,” Walter said, and Ray followed him to the computer. “I've been doing some research, and found this fella who's come up with a scientific method for determining what kinda spanking is warranted.”

Ray watched over Walter's shoulder as he pulled up a web page with lines of questions and radio button options. 

“Scientific?” he asked. 

“Eyah,” Walter said. There's math’n’ all.”

Walter started filling in the fields, and Ray watched. 

After a minute, he frowned. “Why'd you put that I need a severe punishment?” 

“Because this is your second spanking today and your third this week.”

Ray's frown lines deepened, but he didn't argue, knowing he didn't have a leg to stand on. 

Walter started picking implements. Ray whined. “You're not going to use _all_ of those, are you?”

“Nah, it's just gonna pick three.”

“Do you have to make the strap an option?” 

“You can veto one: strap or switch.”

Ray sighed. “Switch,” he mumbled. 

“That's what I thought.” He continued clicking through the options, then reached the end. “Ready?” 

Ray's stomach cramped. His cheeks burned. “Yeah, I guess.”

Walter clicked the Next button. The page went blank, and then a moment later, filled with rows of text spelling out Ray’s fate.

> **Punishment Certificate**
> 
> This certificate dictates that Ray, for the reason of persistent disobedience, will receive the following punishment:
> 
> Three sets of spankings.  
Set One: **42** swats with a **slipper** and Ray **over the knee**.  
Set Two: **29** swats with a **strap** and Ray **laying on the bed**.  
Set Three: **126** swats with a **hand** and Ray **in the diaper position**.
> 
> These spankings will be carried out with Ray's bottom bare.
> 
> In addition, Ray will receive the following extra punishments:  
7 day(s) of bedtime spankings  
14 minutes with a ginger fig inserted  
50 minutes of corner time  
A mouth soaping before the spanking. No rinsing until after.

Ray chewed on his bottom lip. “Is it too late to apologize?”

“You think it's too harsh?” 

Ray's shoulders drooped. “No. Actually, no, I don't.”

Walter nodded. “Good. See? Science. Let's get this done, boy.”

Ray, head hung, shuffled behind his lover to the bathroom. Walter had a box of little bar soaps under the sink; he had bought them for the sole, specific purpose of washing Ray’s mouth out. He pulled one out, unwrapped it, and held it under the water, scrubbing it between his hands until a thick, foamy lather formed. 

“Come here.”

Ray stepped up to the sink, and opened his mouth wide without being told. Walter stuffed the bubbly bar of soap into Ray's mouth, then stuck his fingers in, rubbing the bar against Ray’s tongue and the insides of his cheeks. Ray gagged against the mass in his mouth, and the horrible, medicinal taste coating every surface of his mouth. But Ray tried to stay still while Walter scrubbed his mouth. He thought of every mindless, sharp-tongued word that had left his mouth in the last couple days, and hoped that this would at least show Walter that he was sorry. 

The soaping lasted several minutes. When it was over, Walter took out the soap, dried his hands on a towel, and reminded Ray that he could spit--just once--in the sink, but he wouldn't be allowed to rinse his mouth until after his spanking. 

Ray spit, and he wiped the wetness from his mouth and from his eyes. Shit, the spanking. He'd almost forgotten. 

Ray followed Walter into the bedroom. Walter had set the slipper and the strap on the bedside table, and he was sitting on the side of the bed. Waiting. 

Ray walked over to his lover. Slowly, hands suddenly clumsy, Ray undid the front of his jeans. He took down his pants and he took down his underwear, and he laid bare ass up over Walter's lap. 

Walter picked up the slipper, flannel with a heavy plastic sole. 

“Forty-two swats,” Walter said. 

Ray nodded. Walter would keep track; Ray’s job was to take the hits and think about why he was receiving them, what he'd done wrong. 

Walter brought the slipper up high, then smacked it down _hard_ on the curve of Ray’s bare backside. Ray lost his breath, and he hadn't gained it back until Walter had given him four more good smacks. He gulped in air as the heat in his seat grew. The slaps stung and burned, like the world's worst sunburn. 

Ray tried not to wriggle or kick. He concentrated on the loud SMACK of the rubber sole slapping against his sore ass, and the feel of it bruising his flesh, and he tried to concentrate. _You deserve this,_ he thought. _You were a bad boy, and this is what happens to bad boys._

Walter brought down the slipper for the last swat, hard as he could. Ray coughed out a ragged breath, and let his muscles droop while Walter rubbed his back the way he liked, calming him down enough to go on. 

Walter put down the slipper, and he helped Ray to his feet. Walter pulled Ray’s shoes and socks off, and then his britches and undershorts, and helped him lay across the bed, face down. Ray buried his face in a pillow, and listened to Walter pick up the strap, listened to the old, oiled leather groan as Walter flexed it. 

“Twenty-nine,” Walter said, and Ray squeezed his eyes closed as the thick leather strap whistled through the air, landing like a burning brand across Ray’s ass. Walter was a master with a belt, strap, or switch. He always layered the stripes in such a way that they crisscrossed, not only covering every tender inch of Ray’s ass and thighs, but layering pain over pain as fresh hits landed over already injured flesh. Ray whined and moaned into the pillow, squeezing the soft foam in his hands as they curled desperately into fists. He tried to concentrate again on the reason he was here, receiving this punishment, but it hurt so bad that his mind was noisy with, _noooooooo it hurts please stop it hurts._

The pillowcase was wet with tears by the time Ray took stroke twenty-nine. Walter put the strap down and knelt over Ray, rubbing his back until his breathing slowed. 

“You're doin’ good, honey,” he said. “Ready to finish up?” 

“Yes, sir.”

Walter helped Ray into position, on his back with his legs up like a baby having its diaper changed. Walter held Ray's legs up, and pulled his arm way back before dropping it hard, his flat palm delivering a devastating smack to Ray’s raw butt. Ray cried out, and Walter steeled his jaw and continued meting out the remaining 125 smacks science had determined Ray deserved. It hurt. The hand spanking on his already punished backside was painful, and the position made him extra aware of the fact that he was being punished. It made getting back in the proper headspace easy. 

_You were a bad boy,_ he thought. _You are getting a spanking, and you **deserve** this spanking. You are going to get spanked before bed every night for a week, and there's no reason for it except you decided to be a disobedient little shit. You deserve this._

Quiet tears slipped down over Ray's cheeks, and then Walter, nearing the end of the 126 prescribed swats, really put his back into it, making sure the last couple dozen really hurt. He was good at reading Ray, too, and began to speak in an even tone--not angry, but no nonsense. 

“You were a bad, bad, naughty little boy,” he said. “You know why you're getting spanked? Because _you earned it_. You bought this butt blistering, buddy. Good job.”

That did it. Ray broke down, letting himself sob and moan. It was a long moment before he realized that Walter wasn't spanking him anymore, that he'd let go of his legs. Ray turned onto his side to get the pressure off his well-beaten backside, and then Walter was pulling him up into a hug. He held him while he cried. 

Later, Ray, still naked below the waist, stood with his nose in the corner in the kitchen, doing everything he could to keep himself from rubbing his aching butt. That would earn him more corner time, or a few swats with whichever kitchen implement Walter got his hand on first. Behind him, Walter worked on dinner, humming tunelessly to himself. He put the food in the oven, and then began work on the next part of Ray's punishment. 

They didn't use the ginger often, but Walter liked to have it on hand to use as a threat. Ray pushed his nose into the joint of the wall and tried to push the sick stomach nervousness away. Walter was taking out the ginger root, laying it on the cutting board. He was whittling off the bark-like skin to reveal the slick, fragrant flesh. He was carving the root into a special shape: a long, tapered plug with a flared base. 

“Come here,” Walter said, and Ray shuffled dejectedly to the table. 

“Bend over.”

Ray bent over the table, bracing himself on his forearms. Walter parted Ray’s ass cheeks, and wormed the ginger plug up into his hole. Then he left the table, and went to the sink to scrub his hands. 

Ray stayed bent over. He felt the ginger plug inside him, and for a while it wasn't too different than Walter's fingers in him, but then it started to burn. 

Walter reset the timer: Fourteen minutes for the ginger fig. Ray writhed against the table, which was ridiculous because the ginger was inside him, and squirming wouldn't do a damn thing to get it away from him. It was instinctual, though. Walter ignored him, or pretended to, which was kind, as he went around the kitchen tidying up. Ray moaned and writhed on the kitchen table, the fire inside him growing hotter, more irritating. He tried not to watch the timer tick down, but every thirty seconds, his eyes were on the dial. 

“You deserve this,” he said aloud, his voice a bit strained. “You were bad, and bad boys get punished. This is part of your punishment.”

Ray squirmed, whining, clenched around the caustic, burning plug. _I want it out I want it out I want it out_, he thought, but out loud, he forced himself to say, “You were a bad boy, and bad boys get punished! You deserve this. You earned this.”

Walter watched him. Ray squeezed his eyes closed, but nothing he could do could take him from the pain. He couldn't count the minutes, but eventually he felt Walter's hands on him, threading through his hair, petting down his back, and then reaching in and plucking out the ginger plug moments before the timer trilled. 

Walter threw the ginger away, washed his hands again. He picked Ray up off the table and into his arms, kissed him. 

“You go get a shower, get dressed, and we'll have supper,” he said.

“And then you'll put me to bed early with a bedtime spanking?” Ray asked. 

Walter smirked. “‘fraid so, sugar. You got it coming. A whole week of them.”

Ray rubbed his sore butt. He huffed a sigh. 

“Science,” he said, but he couldn't contain his smile when Walter laughed.  



End file.
